


Hungry Like the Wolf

by ryguy



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fat Mac McDonald, Grinding, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryguy/pseuds/ryguy
Summary: Dennis, against his better judgment, is smitten by Mac's new look.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	Hungry Like the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> The only canon-divergent detail is that Mac is out and proud during S7. This is just porn, we're all here to see Dennis get obliterated. This fic does not pass the Bechdel test.
> 
> Title from "Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran.

It's clear as day, anyone could tell by taking a look at Mac's body; he has only gotten more attractive in the past six weeks, in that brutish bear way, which is a look Dennis has seen on older guys a lot. He's bigger, hairier, dark body hair on his arms and legs, and a full beard adorning his round face. His stupid, worn-out tees stretch over his belly, exposing the underside. He has a broad build, wide shoulders framing his sturdy physique, with muscles and fat in all the right places. His chest like a goose down pillow, easily the most comfortable spot Dennis has rested his head on during Tuesday movie nights.

All in all, Mac's unashamedly hypermasculine and it's _sexy_.

Dennis might as well be declared a hopeless case.

His shaky hands ache to touch Mac, so sickeningly selfish like his bones and the heat around them, those same urges that are telling him to press against Mac's new body with his own fatigued one until they melt into one person. He wants and he wants so badly, he tells himself that what he really wants is for Mac to get skinny again, so he can overlook how attractive he is. Because that's what he ultimately is, fat and attractive.

Inside one house and four walls, it's easy to ignore. At the bar, before people's prying eyes, Dennis's interest in Mac seems to spike, all because the cheekiest of people like to get handsy, and they like to do it where Dennis can see. Their eager hands splay over Mac's skin like velvet garments; over the expanse of his arm, over his tan lines just beneath the hem of his shirt, over his shoulder splattered with freckles.

It shouldn't be a free for all exhibit for the invasive public eye, and it's most definitely not for the fleeting glances from the nosy regulars at the bar. It's for Dennis and his greed, possessive over it like a painter would be over a work in progress. He commits the image of Mac under his practiced hands to memory, without performing any mental gymnastics; all riled up, ready to tear his guts out with aphrodisiac anger; grunting into his ear because Dennis hits all the right keys in the right order.

He knows how easy it is to get him going, sweet talk him into fetching him anything he likes.

And Dennis likes what he sees.

It's a Saturday night in late June. The bar is jam-packed, to say the least. Ever since the college crowd at The Rainbow got word of a hot bear working at Paddy's, they have been bar hopping there past ten-thirty, every weekend without a fail.

'Why?' you might ask. Mainly to invest in mediocre cocktails and get intel from the pretty bartender. To be frank, it's not like Dennis doesn't feed on the flattery or the way his fingers accidentally brush the patron's as he hands them their drink; but jealousy doesn't pick and choose. Being second place is, admittedly, trampling his ego bit by bit until it thins out and _snaps_ at the most unfavorable time.

And it's not those men that are stepping on his feet, no. It's Mac, it always has been.

This could only mean one thing: that "the prowl" is officially on.

Dennis, per usual, is busy bartending and handling the orders. Meanwhile, Mac is soaking in the attention, happily chatting up the customers at the tables. At first, Dennis notices not Mac but his own stare, hyperaware. His eyes are glued to Mac's back, watching tension ripple through his muscles as he flexes for his audience. Those guys are like wolves, salivating at the meat before them, wagging their tiny tails. Now, Dennis, he's classy like a snake courting its prey. He wets his chapped bottom lip, watching Mac laugh as a guy crams a crisp dollar into his pants.

This is crossing a line, surely.

Dennis passes a rum and coke over the bar, slamming the glass down. He picks up a half-lit cigarette from the ashtray and balances it between his fingertips. He fits it between his lips and inhales, noting that it tastes like a rolled cig. Although, he did bum it off a stranger, so he isn't about to complain.

He sees Dee getting elbowed in the shoulder as she pushes her way through the crowd. She tosses a tray on the countertop with four empty glasses on it.

"Two more daiquiris, dickwad."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm taking a break, sis." He scoffs. "Make them yourself."

Dee's brows slant into a pronounced glower and her mouth hangs open, sputtering, "And for what?! You can't just do that, Dennis!"

"Oh, I can," he answers, looking over her shoulder. "And I will."

He doesn't particularly care about Dee's babbling and it shows. His eyes are fixed on Mac until he loses him in the crowd.

Dee lets out a frustrated groan. "And what exactly do _I_ get out of _you_ not doing _your_ shift, asshole?"

"Let's see..." Dennis pulls the till drawer open and counts four bills, taking his sweet time.

Dee feels her rage simmer even more. "Are you done? Are you done yet?"

Dennis holds one hand up. "Calm your tits, I'm working something out here." He waves the bills in front of her. "Take this," he says, promptly. "Not like you get tips from these guys, anyway."

He puffs some smoke in her face and Dee gives him the finger.

"I hate you. I wish we had a bartender that would actually do their job."

"I'll let you know that I'm great at doing my job and I make a killer margarita. You, on the other hand, well..." He winces. "I guess you can open a beer with your claws alone."

Dee snatches the wad of cash out of his hand.

"You're such an ass."

"Tell me something I don't already know." Dennis gestures at the money. "So you're in?"

"Look, I don't care about your lover's quarrel with Mac. You have twenty minutes before I kick your ass. Twenty."

Dennis rolls his eyes. "Oh, how generous. Make it twenty-five and I'll throw in a Sephora gift card."

Dee squawks a litany of insult at him, but he only hears the tail end of it as he rounds the bar.

His eyes saunter more than he does, though, as he stands on his tiptoes, assessing the crowd. These people huddled in here are animals at best and freaks at worst, and Dennis knows he's leagues above them. The guys blocking him step aside for a fake smile or compliment in passing, and he figures that life really is this easy when you're attractive.

Even under the dim light and with cigarette smoke pooling in his vision, Mac should be easy to locate, loud and abrasive. Dennis spots him nearby, standing at the booth by the women's restroom, chatting away like his admirers are actually invested in his fitness regime.

_Ridiculous_.

He walks up to Mac and he feels the tension in the air from the people surrounding them. Dennis's body coils around Mac from behind, so close that Dennis feels a pulse thrum through his back. He tucks his hand an inch under his armpit, snug between his bicep and his body. People are watching. He feels the goosebumps on Mac's skin and he doesn't need a mirror to gauge how smug the grin creeping on his face is. Mac is warm and solid under his hand, and it makes him forget that he's treading unusual waters here.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" His voice is muffled around the cigarette dangling from his lips.

An unconventional but masculine brunette coos at Mac. "This your boy, beefcake?"

Dennis concludes that he's a newcomer. He glares at him, and if looks could kill, this guy would be digging his own grave right now.

"I'm the _owner_ , thank you." He turns to Mac, poking him in the chest with his free hand. "Are you even checking their IDs?"

Mac flashes a sheepish smile at him. "Uh, yeah, duh."

"Huh." Dennis drags his finger down his chest. "Is that so?"

Mac nods. It's a weak nod, but a nod nonetheless.

"You know," Dennis sighs, "I'm a nice guy, I do nice things, and I don't like accusing people," he says, like a liar, "but you have to admit, this seems an awful lot like flirting. And you have a job. A job that, mind you, you should be doing right now."

"I'm not flirting, dude!" Mac protests. "I'm keeping people entertained, that's all."

Dennis pulls his hand back with great finesse and removes the cigarette from his lips. He flails it in the air, the ash snowing to the ground.

"People that don't follow the 'eyes up here' rule, clearly." He stubs it out on the table to make a point. "Back office in five. Don't make me wait."

The office certainly feels smaller than it is, Dennis infers, as he paces from one wall to the other. The music filtering in from outside is laughable at best, a surreal backing track to these loud thoughts of his; thoughts of Mac, thoughts of those people, thoughts of his intentions. He leans into the wall with his arms overlapping on his chest, feeling the bass reverberate through him. His gaze is fixed on his shoes for a long second before his eyes pan over his legs. Thin, more appalling than appealing, all that cream smooth skin curving over and under the lean muscle, framing his bony knees. The fitted denim accentuates his assets, which is a bait that pulls back, strategically, only to leave the hook puncturing your cheeks. He fixes loose strands into place, drums his fingers over his arms; anything to keep his hands busy.

He only looks up when the door opens and Mac enters. He finds those wide, expectant eyes to be filled with uncertainty as he looks into them.

"Sit," Dennis tells Mac.

Mac gives him a once-over. The statement hangs in the air, perching between them.

Mac's hefty footsteps echo in the small room, boots thumping on the hardwood floor. He takes a seat in the chair behind the desk with a subtle thud. It creaks under him as he shimmies into a comfortable position.

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure you know why we're both here right now."

Mac's body goes slack with a deep sigh. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "It's because I'm fucking around when there's money to be made. Big deal, man!"

Dennis presses his lips into a thin line, humming. Mac is either playing oblivious or he's really, _really_ blunt.

"Okay, well, you're not wrong, but you're also only partially correct."

Mac rubs at the thick bristles peppering his jaw. Dennis watches him, watches his fingers with great intensity.

"Partially, you say?"

Dennis's mouth upturns in a suggestive smile at the corners. His lips part, a sliver of teeth showing between them.

Mac notices. "And what's the other part?" he asks insistently.

Dennis walks closer with not a spring, but a metronome in his step. His hips sway with every move of his limber legs, one after another. His low-rise jeans hug his silhouette and leave little to the imagination. The light, floral-patterned shirt tucked into them is drawing in Mac's eyes, like his hips are the focal point to this ensemble, to the room.

Dennis struts around the desk. "Let's just say that I, for one, wouldn't want to discuss it in front of those guys out there, because they might get the wrong idea."

Mac nods slowly, eyes skimming over Dennis's body; his waist, chest, shoulders, all the way up until he meets his face, staring up like he's the image of God on a ceiling mural. The angle of his jaw and the confidence in his eyes, all battling for attention: me, me, pick me, choose me, devote yourself to me.

"Right..." he says; as if the air was punched from his lungs.

"Right." Dennis gives a more definitive nod, as punctuation.

He grips Mac's shoulder with one hand and swings his leg over his meaty thighs, bracketing him. He sits in his lap as if it were a throne made for him, a firm, controlling hand on the situation. His eyes never seem to leave Mac's face, they settle on different features with every blink. His nose in the center, almost too close when he leans down; his cheeks, reddened; his eyes, or more so, his own image in Mac's eyes. It's tempting to just observe, lower his eyes to his plump lips like it means nothing.

Dennis rolls his hips into his crotch once, slow and dirty, making Mac squirm in his seat. His mouth drops open around a shallow breath, gasping out Dennis's name. Dennis cradles his face between his palms, his fingers curling into his beard and around his jaw. His thumbs rub small circles over his soft cheeks.

"What is it, baby?" he murmurs, in that sugar-coated patronizing tone of his.

Mac gruffs out a laugh, his hot breath washing over Dennis's face. His rough hands land on Dennis's hips, pulling him down.

"You're one jealous bastard," he whispers.

Dennis tilts his head and lets their noses brush together. "You're saying that like I had no reason to be, which is just absurd, really. Insane, even." His eyes slip shut, and his lips barely brush against Mac's. "They were _all_ over you out there."

Mac's brain spazzes, skin tingling from how unbelievably close Dennis is. He wants to tell him how this one curl droops over his ear; how his pale skin under the concealer gets pink and blotchy when he's aroused; how his lips look kissable from this angle; if he's even permitted to press a kiss on his lips now that their bodies are curling into each other like this; but all he ends up saying is, " _you_ are all over me."

Dennis's fingers travel down his neck. His fingertips trace his collarbones, nails raking over the skin beneath the collar is his shirt. It's like a rash, skin hot and heavy in the wake of Dennis's touch.

"Do you not want me to be?" It comes out so needy, so conceited that the words feel like they don't belong in Dennis's own mouth.

Those long fingers tug Mac's shirt over his stomach. Then, they slip beneath the fabric, and Mac shivers, groaning into Dennis's ear.

His hands caress Mac's chest, with slow rubs, knead and squeeze his pecs together.

"Den," Mac breathes out. He presses his fingers into Dennis's scalp, massaging it.

"Pull on it," Dennis instructs, "I know you want to."

Mac tugs on his curls firm enough to tilt his head back and force eye contact. Dennis's chest heaves as he inhales through his mouth. His lips glisten from spit and an aroused flush tints his cheeks. Some cheap mascara darkens his hooded eyes, hints of fallout on his lid.

"Like what you see?

Mac doesn't answer, just zeros in on Dennis's face.

Dennis blinks up at him. "It's all yours," he clarifies.

Mac surges forward and presses a needy kiss square on his lips, his beard burning Dennis's skin. "Don't say shit you can't follow through with."

Dennis smiles against his lips, catching Mac's bottom lip between his teeth. Mac pulls him closer by the nape of his neck, fingers tightly curling into his hair.

They're more or less sober, but the kiss feels like liquor, washing down their throats until they're full and yearning for more. Dennis slips his tongue past Mac's lips with ease, letting Mac draw him deeper and kiss him back. Mac gives him more and more until it's too much kissing and not enough air because they both forget to breathe when the other is around. It feels good, it feels real and fast, something they both crave.

The moment they separate, there is intimacy sparking between them, their eyes set on each other. Dennis leans his forehead on Mac's before pressing another kiss on the corner of his mouth, having him lean in and chase for something that is not there. Until it _is_ there, and the tension dissolves between their tongues again. It's so simple, so bold letting them at one another as if the office were a cage and they're fighting hunger.

Mac's fingers comb through his hair as he ruts against his belly. His eyes slip shut as his mouth hangs agape, and red, a sultry whine escaping it. Dennis toys with his nipples, circles his areolas with his thumbs before pinching his nipples between two fingers. He twists them lightly before his hands drop to fondle Mac's love handles. His fingers stretch over his belly, stroke his sides with impatience. His index traces his happy trail and as his nails hit his belt buckle, Mac thrusts his hips up.

Dennis ducks his head under Mac's jaw, moaning into his neck in a breathless tone.

"Let me ride you."

Mac grunts in his ear. "As hot as that sounds, not enough time."

"Well, do you have any better ide- _ah_ —"

Mac hauls his hands down from the small of his back to his ass, and, with a firm grip, he hoists him up as if he were light as a body cradled by waves. Mac is strong enough to hold him in his big arms, steady and unrelenting. He's definitely been hitting the gym more lately. Some may believe there's a "real" reason behind it, something other than wanting to lift Dennis up, but this is it. This is as real as it gets.

Dennis wraps his legs around his waist and his heels dig into his supple flesh. His hands tremble, grasp Mac's shoulders with purpose.

"Fuck," he breathes out, "warn a man before you pick him up, seriously."

"God, don't tell me you're—" Mac laughs, so warm and close, the tip of his nose brushing over Dennis's jawline, "that you're afraid I'm gonna drop you. I won't, I promise." After pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, he adds, "stop being such a pussy."

And that rasp in his voice makes Dennis melt in his arms, a whimper pouring out from his parted lips. Mac walks them over to the closest wall and pushes Dennis against it with his bulk, melding their bodies together. He kisses him kind and slow, lips gently meeting in the middle.

"I love carrying you around. You're always so... you stop being so stubborn when I pick you up."

If someone walked in on them, all they would see is a straight-up pornographic scene: Mac's wide back covering the both of them, and his disheveled, sweaty hair sticking to his nape; his big hands groping Dennis's ass; Dennis's hot moans muffled by his mouth.

"I'm not stubborn, you're just overbearing." Dennis kisses him. "And annoying." And he kisses him again. "And—" And again.

"Someone's into this," Mac mumbles between the kisses, smiling.

Dennis lowers one leg to the ground, and their thighs slot together. Mac uses his now free hand to comb through Dennis's curls; sweet, lazy, and teasing.

Mac detangles his fingers from Dennis's hair to rest it on his cheek, holding his face. His lips look kiss-abused, inviting. In a tender move, his hand is on Dennis's shoulder, big and demanding in contrast.

Dennis's knees buckle as Mac pushes him to the floor. It's not an act of submission from his point of view, although one could argue that looking up from between Mac's legs, with those sated eyes, he is yielding himself. It's so effortless to smile up from beneath the straight bridge of his nose and his curls astray, like throwing a dog a bone. Mac's stubby fingers curve around his chin, tilting his head up and back. He swipes his thumb back and forth over Dennis's bottom lip, rubbing it with gentle pressure.

Dennis's lips part on their own accord. He takes Mac's thumb into his mouth, high heat and dampness enveloping it. He sucks on it earnestly, committed to swirling his tongue around the digit like it was Mac's cock, heavy on his tongue. It's a sloppy job; Dennis slathers his finger in spit, letting it trickle down his jaw.

"You look fucking hot on your knees, holy shit." Mac adds another finger and stretches his mouth out. "Wanna suck my cock, pretty boy?"

He pulls his fingers out, smearing the saliva on Dennis's lips.

Dennis dares to smirk. "Yeah, man."

He undoes his belt, the buckle clinking between his agile fingers.

"You're awfully into this for someone who's selectively gay."

"Selectively gay... there you go, making up terms again." Dennis zips his fly down. "Can't a guy just give head every once in a while?"

"Not while parading his straightness around, no."

Dennis snorts. "Come on, when was the last time I _paraded_ my straightness?"

He pushes Mac's pants down to his mid-thighs.

"Like, this morning, dude. You were very vocal about putting your dick between some chick's tits."

"I can appreciate a nice pair of tits, it's not that complicated."

"So you're saying that you didn't want to fuck her?"

"Stop putting words in my mouth, goddamnit!"

"Shut up for like one second, dude! Maybe put my dick in your mouth instead."

Sex is always like this. "Always", worded like it happens regularly, which it doesn't. It just happens on a whim. It's always Dennis who initiates, and it's impossibly obvious, but Mac plays along. They rev each other up like an engine and they don't stop until they burn out. It's always so aggressive, too, except for when Mac kisses him first; then it's languid, in a way.

Dennis begins palming him through his underwear, hand curling around his cock. He squeezes him once, eliciting a low, guttural moan from Mac. He strokes him from base to head, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the tip with tantalizing slowness. Mac's breathing picks up. His thighs tense and he rocks his throbbing cock against Dennis's hand.

Dennis leans in, planting an open-mouthed kiss on his stomach. He pulls his lips downwards, nose bumping into his happy trail.

"Mm, Mac," he murmurs, lids low as he peers up at him. "You're so big. You're my big boy, right?"

Mac feels a full-body shiver hurry through him, his skull and his spine tingling under Dennis's hands. His praises are always point-blank; the only words leaving his filthy mouth are ones that Mac wants to hear. It's a generic performance act, more than anything, but the ones that roll off his tongue especially well are tailored to Mac's preferences.

"Yeah," Mac breathes out, "yours, baby."

He slides his hand into Dennis's hair, those dark, silky curls filling the gaps between his fingers.

Dennis's hand lingers on his thigh. It slides up, gradually, caressing the skin until his fingertips hit the hem of his briefs. They slip underneath, and he hooks his fingers in the material. 

Mac groans deep in his throat. "Please," he begs.

Dennis fits his lips over the head of his cock, kissing it through his underwear. "Please what?" he asks, breath hot against the precum soaked patch. He flicks his tongue out and licks Mac's cock, making it twitch.

Mac's fingers tighten in his hair and he lets out a shaky gasp. "Take 'em off," Mac tells him.

Dennis drags his mouth over his clothed erection. Mac whines above him, tugging his head back. " _Now_ , Dennis."

_Impatient_ , Dennis thinks.

He sits back on his calves and looks up, admiring the view. Mac is so far gone, panting overhead, his gaze under his furrowed brows on Dennis and Dennis alone. It's as if Dennis is the only thing stuck in his one-track mind and they're not in their run-down bar, but someplace more private.

Dennis knows that this dark lust in Mac's eyes is the tipping point. He grips the elastic, tugging his briefs down below his balls. He bites his lip, wrapping his fingers around Mac's cock. Mac blinks his eyes shut at the skin on skin contact, screws them tight when Dennis starts stroking him.

"Can't wait for you to come down my throat. I bet you want nothing more than to be inside me."

He feels Mac's cock pulse. He pulls his hand back and licks a stripe up his sweaty palm. Mac stiffens in his hand as he picks up the speed. Dennis is overcome with a need to drink up the slick sounds; his skin on Mac's, hot and sticking together.

"Irresistible, right? Rough," he strokes him faster, "just how you like it."

He sticks his tongue out, licking up a bead of precome. Mac thrusts into his fist, bumping against his lips.

" _Dennis_ ," Mac so much as whimpers.

Dennis wraps his lips around the tip. His mouth stretches around Mac's thick cock, his tongue lapping at the head, dipping in the slit. 

Getting blown is better than kissing by a thin margin, less intimate and more casual. Dennis works his mouth with the same hunger as when making out. He twists his wrist, making Mac shudder.

He sinks deeper until his nose is buried in Mac's dark pubes. His hands still on Mac's hips as he deepthroats him. How indecent, Dennis thinks, how absolutely unhygienic and disgusting but oh, so manly, that erotic musk filling his nostrils as he inhales. A warm cock weighs on his tongue, and there is something so inherently dirty about the way Mac bottoms out in him, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of his throat.

"Yeah, that's right, keep sucking, baby."

Dennis moans around his cock, almost as if to signal how much he actually loves being on his knees for Mac. His hands rest on Mac's hips rather than restrict, and Mac pounds into him with a shallow thrust.

Dennis pulls back with a pop. He drags his tongue to the base, lips soft on his rigid cock, coating the shaft in saliva. He reaches down to cup Mac's balls, lightly massaging them.

"Den, angel," the sweet nickname slips from his lips, "want me to fuck your mouth?"

Dennis shivers; it tingles on his nape and runs beside his spine, down, hips jolting and toes curling. Mac's fingers tighten in his curls and he's pulled back, neck tense as he looks up at Mac with a hooded gaze.

"Yes," he says, "please."

"Say it."

Dennis's breath hitches. "I want you to fuck my mouth."

Mac caresses his cheek with the back of his hand, then runs a hand through his hair.

"Just like, pinch my thigh if it's too much."

Dennis's lips curve into a lopsided smile before he laughs softly. "You're actually worried that I'll choke on your cock?"

"It's just bedroom decency, asshole."

"I want you to _ruin_ me, Mac."

Something primal ignites in Mac, something indescribably sensual in nature. There is a stinging ache Dennis feels in his scalp as Mac yanks him down into his fever hot groin the moment his lips part. The salty taste sits on his tongue as Mac's cock slides into him.

He is able to give power up so easily _because_ he has so much of it. It overflows and drips from his mouth to his fingers, every calculated move making Mac quiver. Mac's hips are active, constantly in motion, and Dennis passively takes it. He fills him again and again, pounding into him with a restless abandon.

Dennis's jaw is aching. His knees are hurting. He loves this feeling.

Mac holds his head steady, the swollen head of his cock touching the back of his throat. Dennis meets his eyes.

"You fucking slut."

Dennis groans around his cock.

Degradation is demeaning. It humbles Dennis's manic ego. It's perfect, in a demented way.

Mac's brows are forced together. Dennis answers the question forming in his eyes with a low moan. It vibrates through him, thrills every nerve ending as his cock glides into Dennis's mouth. Mac tugs him closer, manhandles him with ardor. Dennis's hands clutch at his hips, nails digging into his flesh.

He feels his cheeks heat up, head submerged in wet desire.

He is sucking another man's dick and it's amazing. His body is being used.

He lets out a choked up noise halfway between a gag and a sob.

"You're crying," Mac points out.

He feels a blinding warmth in his lower belly. His legs tense and relax, spasm irregularly.

"You look so fucking hot, dude—"

There is a dull pressure on Dennis's head where Mac's fingers are pressing down. He's breathing hard through his nose. The music outside either stopped or he's blocking it out; he only hears Mac, hears him slur his name like a profanity.

" _Fuck_ —"

It builds up and up and up until Mac's senses are overridden by pleasure and he throws his head back. His hand impossibly tightens in Dennis's hair. Dennis feels his come gushing down his throat and he gulps around his cock.

He swallows.

Mac is breathing too loudly. He curses under his breath and pulls his softening cock out of Dennis's mouth, slowly. Dennis coughs discreetly, wiping his mouth.

"That was—"

"Okay," Dennis cuts in, voice raspy and broken, "it was okay. It was fine."

Mac tucks his dick away, pulling his pants back up.

"I wanted to say it was, like, mind-blowing, but I guess 'okay' works, too."

Dennis stands up on wobbly legs, dusting his pants off.

"This whole thing cost me twenty bucks, by the way, so pay up. I owe Dee." He fans his face with a hand, looking up. "And, for the record, I didn't cry, I just teared up a bit. It's normal."

"Oh my God, I'm _not_ paying you for blowing me!"

  
Mac ends up doing his job until closing time, and needless to say, he _does_ pay Dennis back once they get home.

**Author's Note:**

>  **\+ author's notes**  
>  Thanks for reading! "Write a short PWP," I said. "It will be fun," I said. Go ahead and yell at me in the comments please and thank you 💌
> 
> **\+ socials**  
>  You know the drill, [gaydennis](https://gaydennis.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


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